


Long Way Home

by malyce



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-15 00:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malyce/pseuds/malyce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan recruits Buffy to help him defeat a demon he accidentally unleashed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Home

A man who dealt in chaos simply did not belong in a cage. Everything was so maddeningly clean and consistent. There were no stains on the steel bars that separated him from another long, white hallway full of cells that were identical to his in size. There was probably a metal bed rooted to the floor with several rivets- two for each bed post and a post at the foot of the bed for extra support. The sheets were always clean, ironed, and perfectly white. Ethan tugged at the roots of his own hair. He had no shadows to hide in, nothing on which to write, and his ability to do magic had been completely paralyzed.  
  
This has all been explained to him in no uncertain terms on the night of his arrest. He’d had time to flash one last dirty look at Ripper as he was forced into the van. He was to be taken to an undisclosed location for “rehabilitation.”  
  
Rehabilitation. Wasn’t that a nice word for injecting one with various substances in an attempt to render him physically unable to perform magic? Ethan shuddered. His first night at the base had been one of the most nightmarish in his life. They had made Ethan’s body a prison. Janus was the god of change, chaos, entrances and exits. And the cell in which he had be disposed? Everything was in its place. Seasons never changed. If there was one thing Ethan could say about the military, it was that it lacked a sense of artistic vision.  
  
He had to escape. Withering away to nothing in a cell with white walls, white sheets, white lights and nothing in front of his eyes except the color white, a blank canvas begging to be splashed with color was absolutely not an option. Every day, Ethan Rayne would stare into the maddening whiteness and try not to go insane.  
  
The day after Sunnydale was destroyed, Ethan’s luck changed. As he walked down the empty hallway past the empty cells and the overturned carts, a sadistic smile played at his lips.  
  
*****  
  
The first thing Buffy saw when she regained consciousness was a wrinkled, cream blanket. She closed her eyes and sunk deeper into the unfamiliar mattress. She was overwhelmed by the strange, but not altogether unpleasant aroma of spices and herbs. When she tried to move her arms, something restrained them. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she could just make out the shape of a man sitting in a black chair near the bed. Her mind snapped to attention when she saw his face.  
  
“You!” she shouted. Ethan put a finger to his lips.  
  
“Not so loud,” he ordered, “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?” Buffy struggled to piece together the details of the previous night. She vaguely remembered seeing an airplane through a misty haze that lay over her vision. There had been clouds, a thunderstorm, and an opening door. She wriggled against the leather restraints that were strapped across her arms, torso, and legs.  
  
“It won’t do you any good to fight the restraints,” Ethan said coolly, “I made them especially for-” There was a violent crack as the leather strap that held Buffy’s arms split. Before he could react, she tumbled down the other side of the mattress, pulling all of the blankets and sheets with her. She quickly unlatched the metal clasps that bound her waist and wriggled her feet free. She slipped deftly from under the bed, and wrapped one arm around Ethan’s neck. Buffy kneed him in the hip before applying pressure to his trachea with her forearm. She was momentarily satisfied to hear him choking for air. He tapped her arm with one hand while pointing upwards with the other, indicating that he wanted to talk.  
  
“Sorry, Ethan,” she chided him, “I’m really not interested in anything you could say to me right now. And the whole tying me up thing? Not the best way to win my trust.”  
  
Ethan choked a few nonsensical syllables, and then rasped only one word that Buffy recognized: “Sunnydale.” She released him. Ethan collapsed in the chair, as he coughed violently.  
  
“What about Sunnydale?” she demanded, “We are talking about the former Hellmouth, right? The pile of rubble that my friends and I destroyed three months ago?”  
  
Ethan massaged the base of his throat.  
  
“I wouldn’t exactly say you ‘destroyed’ it,” he told her, “that’s always been the problem with you and Ripper-”  
  
“Giles.” Buffy corrected him. Ethan rolled his eyes.  
  
“ _Giles_. But as I was saying, you never stay anywhere long enough to make sure that you’ve done the job properly. The mystical energy that surrounded that city didn‘t disappear. All you did was reduce the city to a crater with a pile of rocks around it.”  
  
“And I even left my wallet at my house.”   
  
“Buffy," he said with a sigh, "I think I owe it to you to help you save the world again.” Buffy looked at him incredulously.  
  
“First of all: huh?” she asked, “Second of all: In what parallel universe does ‘help‘ involve putting someone into an enchanted coma type thing and dragging them to… what is this place?”  
  
“Nevada.”  
  
*****  
Ethan’s house was small, but very well decorated. Buffy was sitting across from him in the room that served as both the kitchen and dining room. Next to the refrigerator was a small tank that contained a pair of large fish with gold scales. Buffy was momentarily distracted by the glint of light on the scales when they swam into the light. She put her fork down beside her plate of spaghetti.  
  
“What exactly does all of this mean?” she asked, “Did you summon something from the Hellmouth?” Ethan swallowed the bite of spaghetti he had been chewing.  
  
“Yes. And no.” Buffy leaned forward.  
  
“If you didn’t do it, why would you bring me all the way here to help you clean up your mess?”  
  
“Because you have no way of knowing what I’ve been through these last few years.”  
  
Buffy grimaced.  
  
“Welcome to my world.”  
  
“I didn’t get out of that place for three years. Do you know how it feels to be the subject of an experiment for three years, Buffy? "  
  
In the florescent lights of the kitchen, Ethan looked a lot more pale than Buffy had remembered. He also seemed older, and more exhausted. After she had seen the effect that being cut off from magic had on Willow, it was difficult not to feel just a little bit sorry for Ethan.  
  
 _This doesn’t mean I don’t hate him,_ Buffy reminded herself.  
  
“How did you get out?” she asked.  
  
“One day, there was a release of magic unlike any that had ever occurred in this dimension,” said Ethan, “it was so strong, that nothing they did to me could keep me from feeling it. I don’t think there was a magic user in the world who didn’t feel a shift in the very fabric of the world.” Buffy’s eyes widened.  
  
“The spell we did,” she said softly, “when we called all the slayers into existence, it changed everything.”  
  
“You didn’t think you could do a spell that altered the very order of the world without at least a few consequences, did you?” he asked, “Compared to what could have happened, this is a small price to pay.”  
  
“And the _Boca del Inferno_?”  
  
“After I escaped, I called on the forces that remained in Sunnydale to do my bidding. Then I-”  
  
“Let me guess,“ Buffy interrupted him, “It was more than you could handle? You know, most of the guys I chase out of town eventually figure out that it’s not a good idea to play with magic. You escape from a military prison in the middle of the desert, and what do you do?“ she sighed, “Normal people would write their memoirs, start a cult, take up yoga, or go to Disneyland. But not you. You have to reopen the mouth of Hell and unleash an army of demons on the unsuspecting population of California. God, Ethan, you are such a _moron_.”  
  
“You’re one to talk,” he responded, “You rearranged the universe with that little deus ex machina you and your friends pulled.”  
  
“Apples and oranges.” said Buffy, “No, Apples and… what’s something not even related to apples or food?”  
  
“Gorillas?” Ethan suggested.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, “that’s what it is. It’s apples and gorillas.” She put a hand to her forehead, “Look, my vocabulary is all fuzzy right now. This time tomorrow, I’ll have a whole list of comebacks for everything you’ve said tonight. I‘ll even categorize my witty sayings by topic and length, like Giles would.”  
  
A tiny smile broke on his worn face.  
  
“Do you sit up all night thinking of a response to everything anyone might possibly say to you? It’s like you sat in front of a mirror and practiced the inflection and cadence for our entire conversation.”  
  
Buffy shrugged.  
  
“Well, when you spend a few years walking through graveyards at night by yourself, it can get a little boring.” She shook her head in an attempt to regain focus. Buffy had to remind herself that Ethan Rayne was the bad guy. She wasn’t sure how their banter had taken a turn for the more friendly, but she had to quickly change the direction the conversation was taking. “You still haven’t gotten to the part about why you dragged me here.”  
  
“We need to help each other, Buffy,” said Ethan, “I can break down the barrier around the city of Sunnydale. Once we get inside, I need someone with supernatural strength to help me take care of the power source.”  
  
“Barrier?” Buffy asked, “A barrier means that these things you summoned can’t get out of Sunnydale right?”  
  
“The barrier doesn’t keep them from getting out,” he corrected her, “it keeps us from getting in.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I’m sure you can understand why I immediately thought of you,” he took a sip of his water, “think of it this way,” Ethan said with a smirk that he rightly perceived to be annoying, “I chose you out of all the slayers in the world.”  
  
Buffy was too tired to think of a comeback. She decided to settle for a withering glare, followed by “Shut up, Ethan.” He gave her a triumphant grin as he carried his plate to the kitchen sink.  
  
*****  
“Shut up, Ethan,” she whispered in the darkness. She had barely slept. The clothes she had been wearing when Ethan abducted her were hanging from the door to the “guest room.” He had loaned her an oversized bathrobe and a pair of clean socks for the night. She was buried beneath the beige comforter. Every room in the house smelled sweet; it reminded her of the old magic shop in Sunnydale. She kicked the blankets off and crossed her arms. She was feeling slightly restless, and the fact that she was feeling so at home in Ethan Rayne’s house was making her uneasy. It was stretching it to say that she was starting to like her watcher’s former best friend, but she was finding that it took more and more effort to hate him.  
  
The man had a way with words. She had to give him that. For Buffy, bantering came surprisingly easy. Even if the wisecracks were a waste of her time, it always made her feel more relaxed to crack a joke. She loved to play with words, and she was always pleasantly surprised when a vampire could spar with her verbally as well as physically.  
  
“Maybe that’s why I always end up with the wrong guys,” Buffy mused, “I only like men who can threaten my life in a funny way.” Angel had been able to hold his own in the sarcasm department. Spike had been her greatest opponent in the never ending battle of wits.  
  
The last thing he had said to her in Sunnydale was, “I'm human. You can't kill me. What's a Slayer going to do to me?” Buffy groaned. What was she going to do to him once whatever demon he had stupidly released from Sunnydale was defeated?  
  
*****  
  
She always woke up early. Buffy was too restless to sleep more than four hours at a time. She rolled out of bed and tightened the belt on the navy blue robe. She found a linen closet in the middle of the hallway full of black and navy blue towels. The bed sheets were colored cream, red, and blue. There was not a white bed sheet or towel in Ethan’s inventory. Buffy furrowed her brow as she reached for a set of black towels.  
  
She paused at the entrance to the kitchen. Ethan was standing over the stove with his back turned toward her. He was wearing a black silk kimono with a red dragon embroidered on the back.  
  
“Morning,” she greeted him. Ethan turned around. He was holding a spatula. From the scent, Buffy gathered that he was making scrambled eggs and brewing coffee.  
  
“Morning,” he replied. His dark hair was pleasantly messy, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Buffy had a feeling that they were both wondering the same thing: What are two mortal enemies supposed to say to each other after ’good morning?’  
  
“You’re not a late sleeper either?” she asked.  
  
“I’ve been a bit of an insomniac lately,” Ethan replied, “Fortunately, sleep is a necessity of the past thanks to the modern miracle of caffeine. I’m making a whole pot, so you can help me support the Columbian economy if you’d like.” Buffy set the towels on one of the chairs by the table.  
  
“Why not?” she acquiesced, “It’s not like this day could possibly get any weirder than it already has.” She took a seat at the table. Ethan shoveled half of the omelet onto a plate, and set it in front of Buffy. He opened a drawer to procure a set of silverware for each of them.  
  
“Hey, Ethan? Can I ask you something?” He brought the coffee pot to the table.  
  
“Could I stop you?” he inquired as he opened the kitchen cabinet to search for two clean coffee cups.  
  
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ethan found one red mug, and then considered her question.  
  
“Because the original plan of holding you captive has obviously failed miserably,” he said, “It seems that I have a bad habit of trying to control things that are stronger than I am.”  
  
****  
  
Buffy lay in the hot water. Ethan’s bathroom had a Victorian style tub, supported with claw feet. Buffy had remembered seeing a similar antique basin in her grandmother’s house as a child. Dawn had been afraid to climb inside it because she thought that the bathtub would suddenly come to life and run away.  
  
She leaned back, and let her face sink beneath the surface. Buffy knew that her life was unpredictable, but the fact that she was taking a bath in Ethan Rayne’s house was among the weirdest turn of events she had yet encountered. Just when she thought that her life couldn’t get any more strange, she had found herself having a halfway civil conversation with one of her arch rivals. The warm water was undeniably pleasant. Her muscles had been sore from sleeping for several days, and the imprints from the restraints Ethan had used had left marks embedded in the flesh or her arms and shoulders.  
  
She couldn’t stop imagining how the black silk kimono he had worn might feel under her fingertips. Buffy closed her eyes, and allowed herself to indulge in just one rumination on Ethan’s five o’clock shadow and his messy dark hair. She wrinkled her nose. “He’s Giles’ age,” she reminded herself. But he’s a few centuries younger than either Spike or Angel, the less rational part of her brain argued, and Giles doesn’t have a kimono.  
  
*****  
  
The endless stretch of road between Carson City and Sunnydale was lined with rocks and desert plant life. The top of the black convertible Ethan had rented was down, and the sun was scorching.  
  
“I don’t know where they get off on calling this a ’dry heat,’” she grumbled as she brushed a layer of sweat from her forehead. Ethan averted his eyes from the road and raised his eyebrows at her.  
  
“That’s Arizona, Buffy,” he responded, “we’re in Nevada.”  
  
Ethan’s gray shirt remained unmarked, and his hair was immaculate. Buffy fanned herself while she glared at him. Ethan lowered the shades of his sunglasses.  
  
“What?” he asked. She scowled.  
  
“Nothing.” It wasn’t exactly fair for her to get angry at Ethan for his preternatural ability to stay dry, calm, and nonchalant when the world was ending and the sun was blazing in her eyes. Then again, that was one of the many mysteries of Ethan Rayne. For a man whose very source of power was chaotic energy, he was amazingly centered. She had never seen him look anything other than calm and focused.  
  
*****  
They arrived in the desert just outside of Sunnydale as the sun was setting. Against the vibrant purple and red California sky, the ruins of the town looked a lot less threatening. Buffy lay on the sad with her arms behind her head, looking up at the sky.  
  
“I guess it’s true what they say,” Ethan told her, ” You can never go home again.”  
  
“That’s especially true when you grew up on top of the gateway to Hell,” Buffy agreed, “here goes nothing, I guess.” There was a pile of sticks next to her head. Ethan was lit one of the larger twigs with his cigarette lighter. “You do your thing, and then I’ll go inside and destroy whatever’s in there.”  
  
“It takes two people to perform this spell correctly,” Ethan told her.  
  
“Funny,” said Buffy, “I always pictured you as a guy who didn’t really play well with others.” She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin on top of her elbows, “I guess I can call Willow. This is so not going to be easy to explain.” Ethan sat beside her as the fire began to burn the sticks.  
  
“No. You can do this.”  
  
“But I don’t know how,“ Buffy protested, “I mean, I’ve never had any real experience with magic. Except that one time when-”  
  
“See, this is your problem,” Ethan began.  
  
“Kidnapping me makes you an expert on my problem?”  
  
"Maybe not an expert," he admitted, "but I have had a few insights in the last day or two."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
He ran his index fingertip over the tight muscle of her forearm.  
  
"You depend entirely on this; your physical strength can only get you so far. See, Ripper saw so much of the dark side of human nature that he was terrified to let you have even the slightest look inside yourself."  
  
"I think I've learned a few things about myself," Buffy argued, "I've died twice and saved the world a couple times."  
  
"That's not at all what I meant," Ethan countered, "remember the first thing you did last night?"  
  
"Gave you a well deserved beating," she responded as she held her hands over the pleasant warmth of the campfire.  
  
"I hardly think that 'well deserved' would cover it. We all have to look out for ourselves, don't we, Buffy? And besides, you completely missed what I was trying to say. With you, everything has to be physical. You've got a sharp mind underneath that... deceptive exterior."  
  
"Look, I don't do magic," Buffy repeated, "it's just not something I've ever been good at, and it has given me a *lot* of trouble over the last few years."  
  
“What’s the matter?” Ethan taunted her, “Afraid of seeing what’s inside yourself? Scared that maybe you’ll find out you’re not as high and mighty as you think you are?” He saw Buffy’s resolved expression soften as he took a seat in front of her. She hesitated, and then held out her hands. Ethan smiled softly as he wrapped his fingers around her palms. “Keep your eyes closed.”  
  
She heard an unnerving crackle from the fire, and felt the flames growing hotter. As the force of chaos circulated through them, Buffy clutched Ethan’s hands more tightly. As she was drifting away, it was comforting to have something to grasp. She felt like she was falling, and then floating gently to the ground.  
  
After the ritual ended, Buffy felt the solid ground beneath her body again. The roaring fire was back in existence, and she could hear the distant sounds of crickets chirping. She caught her breath, and opened her eyes.  
  
“Are you going to let go?” Ethan asked. She could see a mixture of irritation and amusement in his face. She quickly released his hands, and averted her eyes. Ethan moved closer, and draped an arm around her. “So,” he smirked, “was it good for you too?”  
  
“Shut up,” she snapped.  
  
“That’s the second time in the last twenty-four hours that you’ve told me to ‘shut up.’” he teased, “I think you’re losing your touch.”  
  
Buffy curled up next to the fire, using Ethan's empty camping bag as a pillow.  
  
"You really do mess with things you shouldn't," she told him, "things and people." She sighed. "That really took a lot out of me. How did you do it?" Ethan reached for her palm and placed a smooth, dark stone in her hand.  
  
"There's order," he told her, "and there's chaos. Chaos is what we're living in right now. If we can call on it, we can use the spirits of both creation and destruction."  
  
"So this is what you do?" Buffy asked, "You practice organized chaos?"  
  
"It's a philosophical contradiction. And yet, that makes it all the more appropriate."  
  
Buffy rolled the black rock between her fingers. It was smooth, but hard and heavy. The surface was warm.  
  
"Mind if I keep this?" she asked. Her kidnapper shrugged.  
  
"I don't see why not." As the last light faded from the sky, Buffy slipped the chaos stone into her pocket.  
  
“Let’s go,” she ordered, “we can get into the ruins and destroy this source thing by sunrise.”  
  
“’We?’” Ethan asked. He was still sitting by the fire. Buffy extended a hand to help him up.  
  
“You got yourself into this.”  
  
“I’m not a fighter,” he insisted. Buffy produced the stone from her pocket.  
  
“Ethan, you know what your problem is? You rely too heavily on this. If you don’t come with me, the source is just going to produce more demons, and the world will be destroyed. And yes, that does include you.” Ethan crossed his arms.  
  
“You’re out of your bloody mind.”  
  
*****  
“Stupid Ethan,” Buffy muttered as she stomped towards the ruins of her hometown. She picked up a rock and threw it as hard as she could. It made a satisfying thud as it hit the sand, “Stupid Ethan and his stupid magic.” She was in a foul mood. Thus, everything associated with Ethan was dubbed “stupid.“  
  
After she had pummeled him various times and threatened his life several more times, Ethan had abandoned Buffy at the site of the ruins. As the convertible sped away, it sent a cloud of sand flying in her face. And what was she going to do? Let the demons he had summoned destroy the world? Yeah. That would show him. All she could do was search the rubble for some kind of entrance to the source of the demons’ power.  
  
She was sweaty, and there was gritty sand in her clothes and hair.  
  
“The bastard’s probably going to make me pay for my own ticket back to London, and then I’ll get to tell Giles about the magical weekend I spent with his ex best friend,” she grumbled to herself, “stupid Giles.” She threw another rock in the sand. “How do we even know that Ethan’s spell worked?” It was too dark to see more than a few feet in front of her face.  
  
There was a tremor in the ground beneath her feet, and Buffy struggled to regain her balance. As the endless pile of rubble vibrated, an opening appeared in the center. There was a light radiating from the center.  
  
“Huh,” Buffy said, “I guess it did work.” She hopped carefully over the ruins, moving as lightly as a cat. Several shapes appeared near the light source, “Yes,” Buffy whispered, “Finally. Something I can hit.”  
  
*****  
Buffy lost her balance when the second earthquake began. She stumbled into the crater. She grabbed the edge. When she looked down, all she could see was a blinding white light radiating from the depths. Above her, unearthly creatures with dark scaly skin were shrieking violently. The earthquake was getting more intense, as though trying to shake the slayer’s grasp from the rocky edge.  
  
Out of nowhere, a violent wind whistled over the opening. The sounds of the demons shouting ceased, and Buffy shut her eyes against the grains of sand that were blowing in her face. A man’s voice was shouting something incomprehensible. It must have been something in another language. When she opened her eyes, she saw Ethan Rayne standing over her. He extended a hand. Buffy looked back at the surging light, and then grabbed his outstretched hand. He pulled her to the surface.  
  
“You’re back,” she noticed. Buffy punched him squarely in the jaw, and Ethan’s head snapped back. He pointed to the advancing demons.  
  
“Hit them, not me.”  
  
“They keep coming,” Buffy yelled, “I think there are too many of them.”  
  
“We have to get rid of the source!” As Buffy fingered the chaos stone in her pocket, she looked at Ethan.  
  
“You hold them back. I think I have an idea.”  
  
“Hold them back?!?” he asked, “I already told you, I can’t fight.”  
  
Buffy turned around just before she jumped back into the crater, “If you survive this, remind me to teach you!”  
  
She gripped the chaos stone tightly in her palm. It grew warmer as she got closer to the source.  
  
“Hope this works,” she murmured. Buffy dropped the chaos stone into the pit and scurried back to the surface.  
  
Buffy and Ethan ran from the crater as a fiery red explosion illuminated the night sky. Buffy knocked Ethan down as the final explosion shook the ground. They were still for a moment, and then Buffy turned around.  
  
There was a thin stream of smoke escaping from the surface of the hell mouth. She met Ethan’s eyes.  
  
“We’re alive.” she said. Buffy laughed hysterically, “We’re alive. And I swear to God I am going to kill you.” To the surprise of both of them, she hugged him. “You know, you actually risked your life for someone else, Ethan,” said Buffy, “it means a lot to me. Especially coming from someone who doesn‘t normally do things like that.”  
  
“Don’t get soft hearted on me now,” he teased. Buffy shrugged.  
  
“Blame it on Stockholm syndrome, or something,” she said, “either way, I’m tired. There is sand in my hair, and I want to go home.”  
  
“Buffy?” Ethan asked as he dusted the sand from his jeans, “Did you mean what you said about teaching me to fight?” Buffy smirked.  
  
“Get in the car.” She didn’t want to think about fighting until she was back at Ethan’s house with a stomach full of spaghetti and had slept for a few hours.


End file.
